The Silver Queen [AU]

[GamesMaster]

Content Note: Rape, Domestic Violence, Trauma

Olocaryn takes a seat behind the desk, elbows on the surface and chin propped up on his conjoined fists. With just his gaze, he directs her to stand in front of the desk, her back to the door. "So, my pet, you say you have missed me?" he asks gently. "You did not... find something else to divert yourself with? Perhaps... a dear friend?"

Behind her, Coquette can hear very faint sounds of fabric rustling. "No, my lord. I have not seen any friends since you left, master." She struggles to remember the rules, trying to make up for her early gaffe by appending the proper title.

"No?" He hums softly, studying Coquette thoughtfully, green eye glimmering slightly.  "I think perhaps, given your previous dishonesty, some... proof is required. Ma vipere, if you would be so obedient?" he adds. From behind her, she hears soft footsteps, then feels hands on the buttons down the back of her dress.

Coquette freezes, tugging slightly forward away from Tessa. "My-- Master, I do not... I cannot.. be of use to you in marriage if I am.. if I am..." she stammers.

"Your father is hardly going to call your purity into question, given his investment in this marriage," he replies easily. "And given it is I that will be fucking you in every possible way until every inch of you accepts me unquestionably as your master, I will hardly have to ask to know. Now, unless you wish for me to skip right to your punishment..." he concludes, reaching under his desk to pull out a thin wooden rod covered in sharp thorns.

The petticoats go next and Tessa taps her legs to alert her to step out. Coquette swallows, mouth dry as a bone, trying to think of some way to object, some way to keep her corset on, keep the sheath stitched into the interior of her stays secret, but she can't think of anything that wouldn't get her the rod immediately. She knows pain, knows it like an old friend by now, and yet she still can't bring herself to face that rod, those thorns. She's seen servants dead of a severe beating before. She knows what could happen.

Swift, sure hands tug on the strings of her corset. It falls away, the knife sliding free, sliding across the floor, coming to a stop just before Olocaryn's feet. Nobody moves for an instant, doesn't dare breathe.

"It looks like mon chat has been a very bad chat indeed," purrs Olocaryn, and Coquette knows she is lost.

[GamesMaster]

Carver Hawke was finally happy.

His sister was dead; while he'll never admit it, that's helped considerably with the whole 'getting out from under her shadow' thing. He had money now, too, thanks to his deceased father-figure Varric leaving his fortune to the surviving members of his Clan: Isabela, Zevran, Helene, and Carver. They had an airship, and they were enjoying their new life as pirates.

But more importantly for his mental health, Carver had a family to protect. He was dating Isabela, and looked at Helene like a new little sister. He was trying to avoid his feelings for Zevran, but they all knew by now how interested he really was. And they valued him as a tank: his plate mail, his greatsword, were a welcome compliment to their light, stealthy builds, and Helene was able to steer them without having the skill to carry out their visions.

His life wasn't perfect. But it was a lot less lonely than that dismal hovel with his mother and Gamlen. That, by itself, was enough for now.

Today's mission was a personal one for his family: taking down one of the major powers behind a slaving ring in Jalzaid, one Theodmon Olocaryn. He dealt in pleasure slaves almost exclusively, and he produced some of the highest "quality" slaves, meaning the ones most broken. He didn't work alone; he was the financier, and there was at least one more big name that oversaw collection and training before his men took possession to finish them off and sell. So they had to not only end this man with extreme prejudice, but also get the name of his partner to end that man as well.

Today, Olocaryn was holding a feast in honor of his wedding. He had been wed in Glaley, staying there eight months before he finally returned home, but rich men like that took every opportunity to celebrate their wealth, so he was holding another feast. One they intended to crash in an hour.

Now, as they dock, Carver paces the deck with Zevran, eager for the night to begin. Meanwhile, Isabela dresses down below, taking longer than usual. The men wore finery, but it wasn't so different than their everyday. Isabela would have to wear a gown, something Carver was eager to see.

[Tethras Clan]

Zevran gives himself one last look in the mirror before giving his appearance a firm nod. Isabela, being the focal point of their... infiltration, so to speak, was using the captain's cabin, with Helene playing the role of assistant. A few months into their aerial lifestyle, they'd installed a discreet door between the captain and first mate cabins- private space is a premium on ships, so Helene and Carver share the first mate cabin, albeit with a plywood wall between their beds to give a nod towards privacy. With the door installed, that allows Carver and Zevran to swap rooms on the occasions where Carver spends the night with Isabela and Zevran with Helene.

Grabbing the long silver braid off the shelf near the mirror, the merikos drow works it into his hair as he heads up to the deck. As he finishes, his hair shifts to pale blond, his skin to lightly tanned, and his elaborate array of tattoos fade to nothing. Surprisingly galling, to have to hide my race but that would stand out far too much. Jalzaid is not very populated with elves nor dwarves but drow have made foes of everyone, even if those two are their special foes. It's having to hide his tattoos that really bothers him however, but... Keeping alive, keeping my family alive, is more important than honoring the dead. Besides, the tattoos are merely a symbol, not my love.

"Carver," the supposed merikos elf purrs in greeting, seeking to flirt, of course, but also to distract the clearly wound-up human. "Looking very sharp tonight."

[Carver Amell]

"Thanks," is the gruff reply. The lack of any real barb is the only outward sign Carver will let himself show of his affection toward the elf; he's too conscious of people working the sails nearby, too aware that anyone could be spying on them at this very moment. Only in private has he begun to make his first forays toward admitting that it's not just  Isabela's presence he's come to depend on. 

Still, he pauses his pacing, glancing at Zevran as one eyebrow raises approvingly. "You'll do," he admits -- high praise, coming from him. 

[Tethras Clan]

Zevran grins and offers a broad wink, but he angles his head so it's hidden from view of the ship. As much as he likes to fluster Carver, he's learned when and how to do it without completely pissing off the younger man. "Still remember all the steps?" he asks, referring to the two weekends of dance lessons he'd given Carver to prepare for this job. Quest. Mission?

[Carver Amell]

"No," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I'll just fake it, how hard could it be?"

[Tethras Clan]

"Oh you sweet thing, the noble girls are going to eat you alive," Zevran says gently.

[Isabela]

It's then, of course, when Isabela makes her way up to the deck. She holds her head high, swaying her hips, making the fabric in her shimmering gown glitter as she moves. The gown is scandalously low-cut, baring her shoulders in a way no respectable woman would, while making it quite clear she needs no padding in the chest area. It hugs her hips, though it does flare out a little rather than clinging to her legs, in a nod to the prevailing fashion. She wears hoop earrings, and she's braided her hair up into an elegant coif rather than let it hang loose or cover it with a bandanna.

There's something of Naishe in this outfit, but the bearing, the demeanor, the saucy walk is all Isabela. She's a plum ripe for the plucking, but her eyes dare them to try, and she hasn't a hint of demure propriety.

[Tethras Clan]

"Speaking of eating poor sods alive..." Zevran murmurs with an impressed voice. His black slacks, white silk shirt, dark green brocade vest and tie (a weak clasp on both sides so it can't be used to choke him and hiding a lock-pick) look distinctly lack luster in comparison. Turning to face Isabela, he bows deeply. "Mi'lady, you look absolutely ravishing. And if I hadn't given it to you myself, I'd never have spotted the stiletto in your hair. I truly hope that dress doesn't get ruined for work so we can ruin it later for fun."

[Isabela]

"I look forward to it," she purrs. "So. Did I hear correctly that Hawke's forgotten the dances again?" she asks, looking over poor Carver in his slightly-wrinkles slacks, cream shirt, tan vest. "Let's go with story B, then."

Cover Story B involves Zevran playing the noble DuMont, whose invitation they had forged and whose name is on the guest list with two guests, and Isabela his fiancee, while Carver is his cousin from the country, an awestruck rube impressed with the glamour and posing no threat at all. That will let Carver get conveniently 'lost' and look for paperwork while Zevran and Isabela work the room.

[Tethras Clan]

"I shall endeavor to appear less enough that he thinks he has a chance," Zevran says over dramatic suffering.

[Carver Amell]

"I still don't like plan B," scowls Carver. "I'm not stupid."

[Tethras Clan]

"Inexperienced in fancy affairs does not mean stupid. When we were hunting down that nest of owlbears, we followed you because you and Hunter outstrip us both, combined, with ease in the wilds. But this is our field, so it is your turn to follow," Zevran says gently.

[Carver Amell]

"If you say so," he huffs. "We should get going, I guess."

[NPCs]

Zevran exchanges a fond look with Isabela, then nods. "Quite so."

Olocary's manor house is a splendid thing, built in the 'new traditional' style of Jalzaid. Low and sprawling, the only elevation caused by the house following the gentle roll of the hilly landscape, it invokes a sense of the vinyards that surround it. There's only a single room of any great size, the hexagonal dining room that serves as the focal point of the grand gala. The rest of the house open to the public is made of small, intimate rooms no larger than twenty by twenty feet, each done in a different style or a particular theme (often simply a color or pattern, but also themes like 'nautical, aboral, pious or hunting lodge). As a wedding gala, the guest list is rather sizable, which allows the group to slip in despite their only mostly good forgery- Varric's Legacy continuing to look after them by way of a list of very good contacts.